


About Time

by MoonySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Beginnings, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Like in the film About Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySmith/pseuds/MoonySmith
Summary: Greg Lestrade can travel in time, and yet, the most exciting that had ever happened to him was meeting Sherlock Holmes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you've seen About Time, here Greg would be able to travel in time just like Tim did. I had this idea for a while now, and finally dared to actually start to work on it, so I hope you like it!  
> (If you haven't seen About Time, I highly recommend it, it's one of my favourite films! And I don't think there's a spoiler from it on this story).

There was no further information nor record for how long was that men from his father’s side family have been able to travel in time. Well, specifically, only time-travelling to the past and in their own lifeline. It was a huge shock to Greg when his uncle confessed this big secret to him as soon as he turned twenty-one. 

But not now, after so many years knowing what he could do, Greg had grown used to the idea of not using his ‘ _power_ ’ on a daily basis. It was after all those many years that he had found himself forgetting that he could even do that in the first place like it didn’t exist at all. He had also learned that he could make the best of his days the same way as if he had gone back in time to change some details from the first time he had lived in like he also used to do when he was younger. The biggest exception, of course, was when it came to emergencies. If this helped them to catch some killer, he was sure that no normal person would ever hesitate one second, before taking the time to hide in a dark place and being able to do their work successfully, so neither Greg did. The place of choice for said situations at the office was always one of the cubicles in the gent’s when he was at the office.

When he didn’t think of that part — that secret part, he would say that he had a completely normal and quiet life — as long as he didn’t count his job, though. Maybe a little too boring, he’d say, even considering his peculiar condition. But they say be careful what you wish for...

Greg hurriedly walked outside of the building of the Yard, recklessly seeking for a good cup of coffee that he wouldn’t find in the office, anyway. He was tired of that machine and the tasteless drink he’ll get from it. He was tired and needed something else, something good. They had a safe lead to the disgusting murderer who killed a whole family only for fun, a total psycho that wouldn’t let Greg close an eye at night. He had to catch him, he felt like he owed it to that family. They thought they could corner him that evening and finally make the arrest when not even the time-travelling thing was working, he didn’t know what else could be done. So Lestrade’s head was anywhere but on the road that he was walking in, that was why before turning the corner, he collided with the person that was coming from the other side.

“Oh, bugger. I’m so sorry,” Greg quickly apologised to the man whose coffee he had just spilt all over his shirt

But the man only sighed when he looked down at the brown spot that had instantly appeared at the centre of his white shirt.

“Are you alright?” asked Lestrade, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment, hoping that he hadn’t been hurt by the hot drink.

“It’s fine,” muttered the man softly, but Greg noticed the lie in his deep voice, so before he could even think twice, he found himself offering to buy him a brand new cup at the coffee shop to which he was leading in the first place.

Lucky for them that there weren’t many people and the queue was very short, so while they were waiting for their order to be ready, the man went to at least give it a try and dip the dark stain off his shirt in the gent’s, but not before trusting Greg enough to leave a black briefcase in his charge.

Although he was feeling sorry for what had happened, it wasn’t a big surprise to Greg or strange of him not noticing something when he was so focused on a case or the persuasion behind a killer. When this kind of thing happened, it was almost impossible for him to keep all the plans and thoughts out of his mind. It felt like a miracle even, to think that this man that he had hit, seemed to be in such a good mood because anyone in his place would have yelled at Greg all kind of existing and probably non-existing insults from head to toe.

Again, surprised by his attitude, the man had offered him a little smile when he had returned by his side, thanking him for keeping the briefcase, to which Greg had responded the same way with another smile. He well knew that sometimes those gestures spread around people and if everything went well that day catching that damn killer, Greg would end up having a bigger reason to smile too.

Greg received the coffee orders and quickly turned to offer the cup to the other man. The Inspector noticed that the poor lad didn’t have much luck removing the stain from his shirt, so he apologised again.

“It’s fine, really,” he assured him while he turned on his heels to walk toward the little tables inside the shop. Greg had intended to excuse himself once more and get on with his business back at his office, reviewing their movements for the evening, but at the same time, it seemed rude of him leaving like that after the young man clearly looked keening to continue chatting or something. And the truth was, that Greg didn’t want to say goodbye so early either. There was something unusual and odd about his presence that made him want to stay there a bit longer and even forget for a while about the case. So he ended up following him and they sat at the table facing each other. “I don’t think anything can ruin the day for me,” the young man had announced after the first sip of his drink.

“I wish I felt as hopeful as you do right now,” said Greg with a chuckle.

Then the man before him gave him a strange look, slightly squinting his eyes and observed him more carefully for the first time, making Greg feel a bit uncomfortable and conscious, but after only a second he shook his head and shrugged.

“I guess I could say that —my path has twisted — a little bit in the past,” he admitted quietly and now avoided his gaze. “But after some time _outside_ , I think things are finally changing and today’s been a good day.” He looked up again and the twinkle in his eyes expressed more emotions than the way he had talked at least. Then he lifted the small black briefcase that he had left by his side on the floor when they sat down. “My _stupid_ brother has bought me a violin,” he told him with a mocking voice as he laughed to himself.

“Wow,” exclaimed Greg ironically, wide-eye open. “Your brother definitely sounds like a git.”

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head again but the amused expression still on his face.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He shrugged, carefully leaving the briefcase back on the floor.

They were in silence for a moment, while they both drank their coffee. And Greg took a moment to look at him as he had done before; since the beginning, his bright blue eyes had caught Greg’s attention, but now he could also notice that the rest of his face was equally attractive and captivating too. He also noticed the long fingers that were holding the coffee cup now, giving himself a moment to picture them playing the violin he had just mentioned, and… _Oh, no_. It wasn’t usual for Greg to allow himself thinking of anything more than any case or interrogation while he was busy, nothing in this mind to bother him at all, but right now, the man in front of him had won a battle he didn’t even know was fighting. Because Greg couldn’t stop thinking about how incredibly attractive he was and how long would it take to make the first move, trying to figure it out whether he would be interested in him too.

The chatting returned soon enough, and Greg couldn’t help apologising once again for what had happened, so he finally dared to explain the reason behind his distraction, to which the other man seemed clearly more interested now.

Greg realized that he would like to stay and forget about what he had to talked so he could talk to him for the rest of the day, but it was just then when his phone ran, dragging him abruptly back to reality with a flinch when Sally informed him that they had failed again with the lead and the killer had been seen in a further spot from what they had planned. So Lestrade cursed through his teeth as he stood up.

“I — I’ve got to go,” he said, and the young man stood up as well.

“Something wrong with the case?” he asked, more interested than a civilian should, Greg thought.

“Huh, yeah. I…” Greg trailed off, leaving the empty cup on the table, and he nervously scratched the back of his neck, wanting to say something else. “I’d better get going.”

The man frowned but gave him a quick nod as a goodbye, to which Greg had responded the same manner, walking toward the exit. But something inside bothered him and kept shouting at him to not leave like that, and no matter how much he wanted to, now he couldn’t keep that voice inside quiet, so after a loud sigh, he walked back at him, taking his wallet out of his jacket and offered him one of his cards in one quick movement.

“If — if you need — you can — you know,” he tried saying, nodding this time at the card that the other had received without hesitation.

He lowered his head to read, and Greg felt the sudden urge to run away and hide, not waiting for a reply like a teenager again, but then the man spoke, “I’m Sherlock.” He stretched out his hand, and Greg took it, shaking it vigorously, grinning at him.

“I’m sorry about your shirt again,” murmured Greg when they let go of their hands, and _Sherlock_ snorted.

So Lestrade finally walked away, but before he left, Sherlock shouted at him, “You’ll hear from me, Inspector.”

Lestrade nodded in return, the smile still unbelievable stuck on his lips, to the point where the muscles on his cheeks started to hurt. How long had it been since the last time that had happened?

He had had a good time with an attractive and young man, and he had assured him that he would call him. Greg suddenly couldn’t believe his luck, finally being able to forget about his job for a few seconds.

But it all vanished when the phone rang again with a message from Donovan. So Lestrade rushed back to the office.

And everything, he meant completely everything that had happened a few minutes ago with Sherlock, had been forgotten when Sally told him how the killer had managed to get himself out of sight as he ran away with the help of his accomplices.

The frustration Lestrade felt inside was indescribable. With Sally, they were back to the room with the map and the photographs from the CCTV they had collected and distributed all them over the table. They’d compile the spots and thought about how they’d get back at him with another chance. If this another chance even existed again.

But then something else caught Greg’s attention when they were looking at the map.

“What time was that?” he asked, pointing with the finger at the paper.

Sally went through her notes quietly, “Around 4:30, this afternoon.”

Greg gave her a nod before stepping back, remembering what time he had left the building before, realising quickly that if he rushed, he might be the one to intercept that despicable man’s path.

“I’ll be right back,” he informed her before walking quickly to the loo, locking himself in the cubicle at the end of the line, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, picturing the exact moment in his head.

Everything went as planned when his team arrived at the scene, and they managed to stop the killer before he could even think of escaping.

Lestrade slumped into his chair in front of the desk with a loud sigh when it was all over. The rush of satisfaction from the successful closing of a case, and also the capture of the murdered, was now running through his veins. He couldn’t believe how well things had turned out that day after all.

Probably the only thing that could top all of that, would be if Sherlock decided to call him right now.

Greg had his eyes closed, still smiling and even humming some festive song softly. All that before the realisation of what had happened completely washed over him, causing his stomach to give a twist as he opened his eyes abruptly.

Lestrade had gone back in time shortly after he left the building for a cup of coffee. Greg didn’t collide with Sherlock, so he never gave him his card, and now Sherlock didn’t know him. And there was no way he could manage to come back at the same time, catch the killer and still be able to meet Sherlock in time, as much as he wanted to.

Shit, _bugger_ , fuck...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was deliberately written a bit out of character in this first chapter...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: someone dies... a few times in this chapter.

After a few days where he remained pissed and irritated at the situation, Greg had no choice but to move on and get over with the fact that he would never see that handsome man ever again. And he really tried to change that, but there was absolutely no way he could manage to make everything still happen in the same day; his job and catching the killer was much more important than his personal life, he knew that, so after some days he just had to accept it and move on.

He was at home that night, nothing much to do but having his deserved resting night and forgetting about everything else. He had the TV on as background noise while he was finishing cooking himself a meal, he was barely listening to it but caught something from the local news about a young man who had been run over due to his impudence whilst crossing the street. Greg only looked up at the screen when he had taken the plate and a glass of water with him to the living room and sat down on the sofa. He meant to change the channel for something else — he had enough bad news, thank you very much. But his jaw dropped when he saw the photo of the man who died that day before the screen was changed to some report about how imprudent people were those days, but Greg wasn’t paying attention to it anymore, because although the photo’s quality wasn’t very good, he could have recognised that man wherever.

It was Sherlock Holmes. 

His guts twisted inside.

He didn’t even hesitate when he stood up and ran to lock himself up in the darkness of his bathroom, heavily sighing as he clenched his fist. Greg had heard where it had happened and before remembering where he was at that time, or if it was more important than saving this man’s life, he made up his mind and closed his eyes to go back to that moment and ran to the same street.

He’d hurried and arrived the exact moment where a man was about to walk across the street without even looking at his sides, Greg had to act as fast as he could because effectively, Sherlock had been imprudent, so he ran at him and pulled him by his arm to drag him to the sidewalk, and as soon as Sherlock turned over, probably only to insult him, a car passed quickly by their side.

Greg took a second to catch his breath and the adrenaline that had rushed him, he had been close to that car that he could have lost his life, too. And then he took another moment, just to look up at the man that he had saved, the man that once captivated him, but that now looked nothing like Greg had remembered. Instead of the kind of shirt that Greg remembered ruining, he was wearing a black hoodie with the hood on, and  _ oh no _ , the black circles under his eyes and the pale grey skin didn’t give Greg a good sign on how Sherlock had been spending his life.

Sherlock eyed him sneerily from toe to head, running a hand under his nose, he sniffed hard.

Greg was still panting from the previous action and wanted to say something, but then Sherlock turned over his heels and peering subtly to both sides, he crossed in the middle of the street, not even bothering to say something to him for saving his life.  _ Yeah, you’re welcome _ , Greg thought.

Lestrade noticed that he was carrying the same black briefcase he saw him with the first time and that he went straight to what looked obvious as a pawn shop. Greg sighed, but before he had another chance to speak to him and  _ meet _ him, he received a call from the office. And just like that, he was at his present again.

It didn’t take Greg as much as it did before to get over what had happened because after remembering the way Sherlock looked like, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. How could he look so different from what he saw that first time? How could they be the same man? But life went on, and Greg had less and less time to think about him at all.

He was at the office just filling in some papers when Sally apparently had nothing else to do than passing the spare time she had at his office. It didn’t entirely bother him, it was useful while he was writing down some facts from their cases and the woman had a better memory than he did, so it was okay. The company wasn’t un-welcomed either.

She was comfortably sitting across his desk and had carried the newspaper with her, enjoying herself whilst reading some things out loud so they could comment on them together. But then she suddenly sat straight after letting out a sound surprise and told him about how funny it was that a man had appeared dead not far from where they were the day before and that she could easily remember him because he had furiously tried to get inside with them but she obviously had stopped him.

Greg wasn’t exactly impressed but Sally forced him to look at the black and white photograph on the newspaper that she was holding in front of him, and that was when his breathing stopped for a second when he recognised him too.

Sherlock  _ bloody _ Holmes was found dead, once again.

It wasn’t hard to recognise him again, he wondered for a second why was he so important to appear in the newspaper but Sally interrupted his thoughts reading the news out loud to him. He had been mugged and attacked just a few streets away, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

Greg swallowed hard, needing a moment to calm his breath. He pushed himself up from the desk but tried to act normal when Sally looked up from the newspaper at him and before she could ask what was wrong, he excused himself and went to the gent’s to hide inside the dark cubicle, planning how he was going to be able to save him this time.

He was determined to help him, no matter what, so he went back to the moment they had arrived at the crime scene the day before and asked Sally, very subtly that if she saw a tall man with dark hair come in, she must make him stop for a while and don’t let him go right away. He knew he was being vague with it when she frowned at him and only agreed when she realised he wouldn’t give her more information, yet she didn’t question him when he left her.

He thought it might have worked, maybe making enough time for Sherlock being far from where he was assaulted would save him, so he returned to his work. He was sure that it wouldn’t have looked okay if the DI disappeared just to salute a man — a strange man.

So, he was back in the present, the same position at the desk with Sally in front of him, he had been so busy in the past hours, somehow busier than the first time, that he had forgotten about Sherlock, and unfortunately only remembered when Sally mentioned him… again. This time the man had died from hypothermia probably from sleeping rough. She obviously recognised him now because it was  _ strangely _ the same man Greg had asked her to stop from leaving.

Greg cursed under his breath and before he could start questioning why the hell Sherlock was sleeping rough when it was obvious that he had come from money when he first met him, he stood up. Maybe he was just being judgemental from that first meeting, anyway.

He sighed and went to the cubicle to try to save Sherlock’s ass again.

He dared to ask Sally this time to make the other man wait for him but not letting him go inside, obviously. He knew it was unprofessional and he couldn’t think of a better reason to talk to a man that he was supposed to never met before. But he thought that maybe somehow he would be able to give him a hand if he needed it.

He was inside the house surrounded by the horrid crime scene around him when he heard some shouting and yelling from the outside. He sighed heavily before going out, somehow knowing who it would be.

Sally and Sherlock were arguing, even after she insisted on him waiting for Greg, he demanded to be allowed inside. And Greg sighed again. It seemed absurd, why would he want to be there?

And before he could think about it himself, Sally voiced what he really avoided to think about, suggesting that it was really suspicious of his sudden interest if he wasn’t linked to what had happened, but then Sherlock started to insult her with some harsh comment about her private life that Greg didn’t even know about. So, that was when he had to stop him and intermediate the things between them.

He raised his hands and stood up between them, he gave Sherlock a closer look, noting that he was wearing the same clothes he had seen him the last time, but also, that he sadly looked as bad as he was then, if not worse.

Greg tried to calm Sherlock down, making him understand calmly that they couldn’t allow him to get there but Sherlock seemed out of his mind and started addressing the shouting at him now. While Sally insisted that he should be considered as the prime suspect after the number of gruesome details he had given to her before Greg had arrived, without even putting a foot inside the house. And it was odd and suspicious for Greg too, but there was something about him that made Greg hesitate. He didn’t look like a serial killer — he had enough experience with that.

He ignored her and tried to calm him down again this time, but Sherlock was still too enraged to do so, and when they didn’t allow him to get in, he walked away from there, even after Lestrade’s pleas. He shouted at them that they were doing it wrong and they needed his help.

He didn’t exactly feel right when he went back inside but a thought comforted him: maybe this time it must have been at least half an hour since he had arrived, that he had made enough time for him and it was past the hour he had been found dead before, thus it should be enough to save him.

He would find out the next day.

_ DEAD _ .

Greg was starting to lose it. How many more times did he have to go back in time to save this poor young man’s life and still continue with his life?

_ Should he even be saving him? _

That was the thought that he was dodging the most. He didn’t know if he would be able to move on knowing that he had left someone to die while he was able to do something about it. But… what else shall he be doing? What kind of trick was destiny playing with him?

He thought about it over and over again while he was inside the dark cubicle. Probably the only different thing he wasn’t doing was to actually allow Sherlock to get inside with him… Greg knew that Sally wouldn’t be okay if he did but it was all Greg could think now. If that didn’t work either, he just didn’t know anymore. He didn’t want to be trapped in a loop, he surely knew it was a dangerous thing to play with, but he had never gone through that before, and Sherlock didn’t deserve to die like that...

He was cleverer this time because as soon as he heard that a strange man had arrived followed by the exchange of shouting, Greg instantly claimed that he knew him and stopped the yelling from both sides. Sherlock’s eyes were wide open from the surprise but nodded in silence, passing by Greg’s side to get in, not without throwing a mocking expression at Sally that Greg tried to ignore.

It was a confusing scenario, he was sure but he allowed Sherlock to get with them inside despite Sally’s demands. He felt sorry for her and promised to himself that he would make up for her later.

Before the woman could follow them, Greg got closer to Sherlock and quietly asked him to be quiet himself and stop shouting at the team, but that he would allow him to help.

Sherlock dropped his jaw surprised but nodded in response. Suddenly Greg could find a sign of the man he saw once upon a time so many months before, it made him feel at ease at last.

They made their way up into the place, Greg led him to the room where the corpse had been found and it only took Sherlock a second to drop to the floor on his knees and to start analysing everything he saw and mumbling said observations to whoever was able to hear, Greg had to stand closer to him every time he shifted so he could hear better, Sherlock spoke very quietly and agitatedly, and Greg had to push the thought reminding him that this man might be high in the back of his mind because, despite that, he was pointing out some amazing facts that he had just missed.

Greg was open-mouthed when Sherlock stopped and stood up, he didn’t know how to express what he had just seen, it amazed him. But Lestrade didn’t have the chance to say anything because Sally walked towards them and asked annoyed, where the hell had he met that man because from what she gathered he had given enough clues to be found guilty.

Sherlock and Greg shared a quick look before Greg turned his head to Sally, clearing his throat he said quietly, “He’s an acquaintance’s brother.”

The lie seemed to calm Sally for a while but Greg was sure she wasn’t entirely convinced as she squinted her eyes at Sherlock before leaving the room when Greg asked her to look for the leads he’d said.

At least Greg was sure that Sherlock had had a brother, the lie could work.

After the rush of adrenaline that had flushed over Sherlock, he seemed like an alien to the place, not knowing where to stand anymore, so Greg took the pity on him and when Sherlock was about to ask something, Greg mouthed softly, “Wait.” To which Sherlock nodded and obliged.

Lestrade made sure everything was in order before turning again to Sherlock, asking him to go with him to an empty room where they could talk privately.

“Why did you let me in?” Sherlock asked as soon as Greg closed the door behind him.

He shrugged trying to act casual, knowing that he had no choice but to lie — he couldn’t just tell him what he had been going through just to save him, could he?

“I saw something in your eyes that showed good intentions, I guess.” Greg shrugged again, and Sherlock narrowed those same eyes at him and Greg had to look away before getting lost staring at them, amazed by their colour. He so wished he was able to do as he liked. “So I expect you to not disappoint me and behave for a bit longer before she finds out I’m lying, alright?”

Sherlock nodded, looking grateful which made Greg smirk.

“I actually have a brother, Inspector, so it can work,” said he, the corner of his lips twisting up.

“Alright then,” Greg replied, stretching his hand out. “I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

He took it and shook while replied very stoically, “Sherlock Holmes.” They offered each other a nod before letting their hands go. “By the way, my brother’s name is Mycroft — in case the situation warrants it.”

“Noted,” Lestrade replied, touching his temple with the tip of a finger, trying not to look too confused with their names. He had already thought about how odd the name Sherlock sounded, but  _ Mycroft _ ?

They said their goodbyes after Greg offered him his card — just like he had done the first time. Then Greg eyed his watch to check that it had been at least an hour since he let Sherlock in, so he really hoped that this time it worked and he wasn’t in danger anymore because he didn’t know what else to do to save him. He just watched him leave. He could only know if it worked the following day…

There was no news about a young dead man, so Greg could finally relax and breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

After their first —official— meeting, where Sherlock helped him and his team to solve the case, it wasn’t long after the young man had phoned Greg asking for another case or something he could look up and be helpful. The helpful part didn’t sound as convincing as probably Sherlock thought it would, but then Greg tried not to sound too surprised himself when he recognised his voice when he answered. He just promised he’ll see what he could do.

Sherlock had come to Lestrade’s office a few days later when Greg had offered him to look some cold cases he'd found. Sherlock had accepted without hesitation. When he showed up in the office, he still looked a bit paler than what Greg remembered the first  _ unofficial _ meeting they had (as Greg liked to refer to it in his head.) and he still was wearing the black hoodie and dark pants. Greg just couldn’t stop wondering how did things change so much with him?

They were still in polite terms after that, but it didn’t take much for Sherlock to show himself more comfortable around Greg the next cases they got involved in. And then they were spending more and more time together, unfortunately, during all that period, Lestrade was conscious that Sherlock was using drugs. He even showed up high to more than one crime scene. The first time Greg tried to act the fool because he was sure that Sally, nor anyone had found it out, although he was fumed inside. Of course, he had known that Sherlock was using since they officially met, but it felt different when he was working with him and already high, hypocritically. They would fight after Sherlock gave him his clues and Sherlock would say that it shouldn’t matter to Greg because he was doing the job either way, and Lestrade couldn’t just explain to him why he was wrong. So, after one big fight that Sherlock had with one person of his team, Greg had no choice but to give him the big ultimatum… It hurt, of course, but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Sherlock stopped coming and answering the phone after that and Greg didn’t see him nor heard of him for months, to the point where he thought that something could have happened to him and he felt awfully guilty about it, but even worse when he wondered if there was something he could have done differently. He didn’t change anything, though, even when he travelled back in time just to see him. Greg felt ridiculous when he was back in the present but he couldn’t lie to himself and not accept that he missed the other man. He only did that a few times, going back to some of those rare days where he wasn’t high around him or when he wasn’t obviously going through another withdrawal and his moods weren’t swinging as much as they usually did. Greg had to admit that behind that, he still enjoyed Sherlock’s presence, even when he knew it was wrong because the biggest part of his team despised the man and Lestrade felt unfaithful to them… But what could he do?

The good days had been easier to flow when Sherlock wasn’t high, of course. Greg had discovered not much after the first meeting, that Sherlock actually enjoyed whenever he gave him a compliment about his skills and a very subtle smug smirk would appear on his lips, even a different twinkle from his eyes would be enough for Greg to notice the amusement he must had felt. Greg enjoyed doing it even if he wasn’t aware of actually doing it, the feeling was just instantly there after Sherlock closed his mouth.

Sherlock was the most brilliant person Greg had ever known, without a shadow of a doubt, that was why he would get mad at him for wasting so much talent and time on drugs, they would discuss and fight about it, leading to Sherlock leaving Greg on the spot without talking or reaching for a couple of days. But during those times Greg was so pissed that he didn’t mind not seeing Sherlock’s face for as long as he calmed himself down with him. Sherlock probably felt the same but would always come back after the time spent doing God knows what. Greg would never ask, anyway.

Sherlock went to Greg’s flat a few times to keep working on something about any case and Greg didn’t feel weird about it because he enjoyed the company in the solitary place — even those times when Sherlock was acting insufferable. What did that say about him? He would wonder.

The first time, Sherlock had made a lot of assumptions from the analysis he had made after looking around, it pleased Greg because it was funny in the end to prove Sherlock wrong or ask how the hell did he figure out other things. That was the favourite memory he had with Sherlock, and he had come back to it more than once during Sherlock’s time away.

The other few times where only when Sherlock was in a good mood and not insulting anyone who dared to speak to him. When that happened, no one was saved, not even Greg. Mostly Greg.

Another reason for Greg to feel so stupid was that he was the one to blame, after all, he always allowed Sherlock to be an asshole, only because deep down he knew he was a genius, but after the last fight, he figured out how wrong he’d been.

The few times that he didn’t like to think about it, were those where Sherlock had died. It happened twice since they  _ officially _ met, and Greg realised how different they felt from previous times. He barely knew Sherlock by then — he knew a version that now made him question if it ever existed in another alternative universe, but finding out that Sherlock had died after actually knowing him, made his heart stop and so the world. 

Sherlock would never say that they were friends, but Greg felt like the younger didn’t have anyone closer like that, so he felt a pinch of pride when he realised he might be that to Sherlock. Thus the pain in his chest he felt those few times, before going back in time to save him once again. 

There was no way Sherlock would ever understand what Greg had got to go through because of him, those were just part of the secrets that Greg had to keep under seven keys inside of him, even when he desperately wanted to rub it in his face to make him change, to make him open his eyes and see what he was doing with his life. But Greg was an idiot, as he reminded himself because he never dared to press the matter before.

So he had stopped thinking about him after a while. If he didn’t hear anything from him, nor the news with a dead body, Greg just got over it and thought that maybe it was it. They were done.

But it was almost three months later that the unexpected occurred; Greg had arrived at his flat earlier that day, he was sitting on his couch comfortably when he heard the soft knock on the door. He grunted but stood up to open it, and almost startled when he found Sherlock on the other side. Greg had to resist the urge to hug the other man, so instead, he offered him the biggest smile he could offer as he let him get inside.

Sherlock seemed a bit different from what Greg remembered, he had clearly put on some healthy weight as the hallows on his cheeks seemed less notorious now. The black circles that Greg had gotten used to seeing, weren’t there anymore and relief washed over him.

There were no apologies, from either side. Sherlock had made some ironic comment about Greg’s lifestyle, to which he had responded in the same way, they shared a chuckle and that was it. Greg was soon talking about some tricky case they had been working on and it felt at ease again.

Sherlock Holmes didn’t turn up high on his crime scenes ever again.


End file.
